Kingside Bishop, Book I: Childhood
by TheAberrantInkwell
Summary: The wizards got a little confused and Harry wasn't left on the doorstep of Number 4, Privet Drive-he was left next door. (Soon-to be) Dr. Anthony Bishop, new resident of Number 5, is sceptical of the letter proclaiming Harry to be a wizard, already harbours a strong dislike for the Dursleys and decides that maybe adding to the family might not be that bad of an idea.
1. Chapter 1

A cat sat outside Number 5, Privet Drive. It was a very purposeful cat, a tabby with intelligent eyes and a strict demeanour that demanded the utmost respect—even if it was just a cat, and even if it was pouring down rain. But it wasn't just a cat and it wasn't simply passing through Little Whinging on a search for food scraps and small animals; no, it was there with a purpose and it was there commanding respect in that wet, stuck up little neighbourhood and it was certainly not there to hunt.

It was also outside the wrong house.

So it had happened that when Albus Dumbledore had informed her of his intent to leave their small saviour with his aunt and uncle he had also admitted that he wasn't exactly sure where they lived. Oh, he knew that it was Privet Drive and he knew that the aunt was Petunia who happened to have a small son a few months older than little Harry, but he didn't know the house number or her husband's name and it would be so much of a bother to go find out, given the chaos the Wizarding world currently found itself in. But Minerva certainly wouldn't mind going to check, would she? It would be such a help, especially considering the state of things. And he had a (albeit old) photo.

And she hadn't minded, not really, glad for an excuse to go and watch the muggles who were supposed to watch the son of two of her favourite students. She recalled Lily crying and complaining about how her sister shunned her out of jealousy for her magic and she was loathe to leave Harry with that woman. But perhaps things had changed...?

As it turned out Minerva had ended up there in the late morning and so had missed Petunia leaving Number 4, but she had certainly heard the loud wails coming from Number 5 and, promptly looking through the window, saw who could only be the woman she was looking for and the boy who Albus must have been referring to—though "small" wasn't exactly the word for him. A man was at the table as well, a man with slightly tousled chestnut hair and clear brown eyes who had a rather forced smile on his chiselled face as he served the woman tea.

There was nothing visible to dissuade Minerva from believing that this was the house of Petunia and her son, and apparently a rather unfortunate husband who had perhaps rushed into this whole family business a tad too soon, judging by his young features. She couldn't see the moving boxes that were stacked haphazardly in the bedrooms or the plate of biscuits in the kitchen that Petunia had brought as a "welcome to the neighbourhood" gift.

It wasn't her fault that around 1 when Petunia was leaving Minerva was being distracted by a rather excitable dog that either wanted to play with her or eat her—it wasn't particularly clear. Or that when 5:30 came and the woman in question came out to greet her actual husband an incredibly lost semi-truck whose driver looked terribly confused thundered down the obviously residential street and made the usually stern witch leap head-first into the bushes. And when night fell and the rain started (along with some actual thunder and lightning), every curtain on Privet Drive was drawn tightly shut.

It was that chain of very strange coincidences that left Minerva McGonagall forever bemused about the muggle world and saw Harry Potter being set on the doorstep of Number 5, Privet Drive with a letter that contained information about the Wizarding world clasped tightly in his chubby toddler hand.

Anthony Bishop liked to consider himself an honest man. He worked hard to earn the money he had, kept well within the boundaries of the law, and would never be one to look covetously at another man's wife (especially not Vernon Dursley's, he thought grimly as he finally managed to shoo the ghastly woman from his house.) He had originally thought that Privet Drive would be a good neighbourhood to move to as he worked to make a name for himself, but if Petunia Dursley was any indication of the rest of the street's occupants he'd found himself rather out of luck.

The idea that luck had decided to take a vacation from his life was reinforced when he heard a crying sound from outside his door the following morning. Opening it up he found a baby on the doorstep, wrapped in a wet blanket with tufts of jet black hair sticking up in every direction. Its eyes were screwed shut and its face was red and soaked with tears while its forehead was marred by an angry, jagged scar. Not entirely sure of what he was doing Anthony quickly scooped up the little one and the thick envelope beside it and returned inside.

Curious as he was Anthony's years as a med student kicked in (and he almost had his doctorate) and he knew his first priority was to get the little one dried and warm. This provided the answer to one question; peeling off the wet clothes and the soiled nappy, Anthony was able to see that his charge was very much a boy. He briefly considered ringing Petunia and asking to borrow some baby things, but he quickly decided that he would rather not let the Privet Drive Gossip Queen in on this business quite yet. Instead he grabbed a soft towel and pinned it around the child's nether regions as a crude sort of nappy before wrapping it in a layer of saran wrap to prevent too much leakage. At some point the child had stopped crying and instead was sniffling softly, gazing up at him with the most brilliant pair of emerald eyes Anthony had ever seen. He smiled gently.

"It's alright, little one, I'm not going to hurt you," Anthony murmured softly, placing a blanket around the boy's shoulders before turning his attention to the gash on his forehead. The boy whimpered and pulled away when he reached out to touch it. "Hey, I said I wasn't going to hurt you. I just want to help you get better," he soothed.

"Hep?" the boy asked timidly. "Muma? Dada?" Anthony frowned and he could feel his heart break.

"I can help you, little one, but I don't know about your parents," he told the child, slowly reaching out to brush the fine black hair away from the cut again. This time the boy didn't pull away, but he did stare at Anthony with his wide emerald eyes. "What's your name?"

"Hauw," the boy said, slapping a hand on his chest. Anthony tilted his head slightly in confusion. "_Hauw!"_ the boy insisted, apparently not liking Anthony's inability to grasp his take on the English language.

"How?" Anthony asked, running a hand through his hair in bewilderment.

"Hauw-_ee,_" the child emphasized and this time Anthony understood.

"Oh, Harry?" The boy nodded, looking pleased with himself. "Well my name's Anthony and it's very nice to meet you."

"Anfin?" Harry squinted at the strange man who was gently prodding the skin around the cut. He grinned when Anthony chuckled.

"Close enough, duck."

That had been morning and for some reason Anthony had not yet called anyone—not the police, not child services, not even the Dursleys. Instead he laid Harry down for a nap in the middle of his bed after a very hectic breakfast ("'Muma!' 'I'm sorry kiddo, but your mama's not here,'" and "Wan' Dada, Anfin no!" and "Pafoo, Mooni, wan' Muma!" and definitely the least heart wrenching of all "'Mik!' 'You can have milk after you drink some water, Harry.' 'No wa'oo, mik!'").

He really wasn't sure why he hadn't called anyone yet.

Perhaps it was the promise of answers that were potentially held in that parchment envelope.

So Anthony sat down on the bed beside Harry, leaning against the headboard, and turned the thing over in his hands. It was addressed to a Petunia and he could only assume that it was meant for Petunia Dursley and that Harry had only accidentally ended up on his doorstep. Thinking back to the woman's horrid behaviour the day before and her overweight, spoilt son, Anthony realized very quickly that he was glad that Harry had ended up with him instead. With some hesitation, he broke the wax seal and opened the letter.

What was this? Anthony grimly noted that Harry's parents—Lily and James Potter—were dead, but what sort of people had they been mixed up in? Murdered by a Lord Voldemort (flight from death, what sort of person was this?) who called himself a dark lord wizard, and allied with a group of people who believed that magic was real and that they were also wizards—and that Harry had saved them from this death man. And they were expecting him back when he turned eleven so that he could go through a sort of wizard training.

If this idea of people who believed they could perform magic coming to sweep up Harry after abandoning him with his aunt (had they managed to actually find the right house) didn't make up Anthony's mind then the last paragraph of the letter did. Apparently this "Albus Dumbledore" (which seemed nearly as bad as the name "Voldemort") knew that Lily and Petunia had been estranged for years, that Petunia had done her best to make her sister's life miserable throughout their teen years, but was asking that all that be put aside in favour of the little boy who was being forced upon her. And why? Something about wards being tied to Harry and Petunia's shared blood that would protect the boy from the spirit of his parents' murderer.

If Anthony ever met Albus Dumbledore, he was punching the man in the face—"wizard" or not.

Anthony Bishop liked to consider himself an honest man, but in that moment he realized that he would much rather be a good one. And he started to plan.

**To any of those who may be familiar with me/my works on ffn (well, and to basically anyone else), uploading this is a huge step for me. I've been in a pretty bad place mentally and emotionally (physically as well over the past couple of weeks) and I definitely didn't want to start something that's going to get dropped. I was planning on sticking to oneshots for a while, but clearly that hasn't happened. So I'm going to try to do this, this one thing, and generally keep up on it. That being said, I may be instituting an "update day" or I may not, it depends on how this goes. If that does happen, though, please don't be upset if I miss a couple weeks. Life is hectic.**


	2. Chapter 2

An immense number of towels, a case of milk, buckets of patience, and three days of self-imposed house arrest later Anthony and Harry were on their way to speak with child services about their situation. The letter was hidden carefully in Anthony's personal things and he had re-packed everything he had unpacked since the move. All of the unofficial arrangements were made.

It was time.

Pulling Harry out of the car seat he'd borrowed from a woman down the street for his "nephew," Anthony strolled up to the professional looking building.

"Hello," he said, approaching the receptionist as Harry contentedly chewed on his hand. "My name is Anthony Bishop and I'm here for a meeting with Dana Mitchell?"

The receptionist smiled, eyes softening at the sight of Harry and responded "Anthony Bishop? Yes, here you are. Head down the hall, Ms. Mitchell's the first door on the left." Anthony gave her a smile and followed her directions, shifting Harry to his other hip and knocking.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Bishop, please come in," invited a woman who must be Ms. Mitchell. Her hair was blond and pulled back, revealing small silver hoops on her ears that matched a chain at her neck and bangles on her wrists. From the chain hung a heart-shaped turquoise pendant, wrapped in silver vines, that complemented her blue-green shirt. A reserved smile topped off the professional ensemble, but despite this (and Anthony's general dislike of red tape and those who worked with hit) she seemed to be a very pleasant woman. It probably helped that she let loose a grin when she caught Harry's curious gaze. "And who is _this _young man?"

Harry just looked at her and Anthony bumped him up in his arm slightly. "Can you tell her your name?" Harry looked to Anthony then to Ms. Mitchell.

"Hauw," he mumbled, turning into Anthony's jacket. The man's arms unconsciously tightened around him.

Ms. Mitchell's eyes turned questioningly to Anthony who clarified "Harry." Her smile returned and she waved them into the office. Anthony took the proffered chair on the opposite side of her desk and shifted Harry into his lap.

"Well it seems as though you two have grown rather close, Mr. Bishop," she observed.

"Anthony, please."

"Dana," she offered another smile. "So, down to business, Anthony. Could you please tell me exactly how Harry here came into your care?" She pulled a sheet of paper and a pen out of her desk.

"I woke up one morning and heard something that sounded like crying coming from outside; I went out and he was on my doorstep," Anthony explained, purposefully omitting the letter.

"And what condition was he in?"

"Wet," replied Anthony heavily. "There had been a storm that night and his blankets were soaked through. He also had a nice gash on his forehead that hadn't yet closed up." Dana frowned.

"I see. According to my records you did not seek medical attention?" Anthony shook his head, ducking slightly.

"I was rather overwhelmed. As you could see in my file I have undergone extensive medical training and my first actions were to get him warm and dry. I cleaned up his forehead easily and there's been no sign of infection or any other complications. I have been careful."

"Yes. While you may not have taken the best course of action that can be forgiven..." Dana trailed off. "There was no form of identification left with him?"

"No," Anthony denied, hoping that he sounded prompt rather than that he was lying.

"So are you some sort of baby whisperer or did you have some other method of discovering his name?" Dana asked dryly. Harry, who up until that point had been snuggled into Anthony's jacket, popped up.

"Muma?" he asked excitedly, looking around. "Muma, where'oo?" Dana looked on in pity as his face fell and he began sniffling. "Muma?"

Anthony picked up the little boy and turned him so that they could make eye contact. "Harry," he said quietly. The boy sniffed and looked at him through watery eyes.

"Wan' Muma. Wan' Dada. Pafoo, Mooni! Anfin, home!" Harry was sobbing, legs kicking and face screwed up. "Anfin, where Muma?"

"Harry, I'm sorry but your mummy and dad can't be with you right now," Anthony told the small boy.

"Gone?" questioned the sniffling child. Anthony nodded hesitantly, not sure what it meant to the boy.

"Li' gama an' papa?"

"I would expect so," Anthony said softly. Dana coughed.

"Harry, did I sound like your mother?" she asked gently. The small boy nodded tearfully.

"Muma gone?"

"Yes," said Anthony, earning a sharp look from Dana.

"And how do you know that?" Anthony sighed, gathering up his courage and diving into his rehearsed story.

"I have a friend who collects obituaries," he lied, holding back a wince at her raised eyebrow. How did he decide that this would be a good idea? He was fairly sure he could be arrested for this, or at the very least fined. "I know, it's strange. But he saw Harry and he pulled this out."

Dana took the newspaper clipping Anthony fished out of his pocket. It had been difficult to track down, but he did have friends—not particularly close ones, but ones that didn't question his motives at least—and it was very necessary, in his opinion. Even in black and white James Potter looked exactly like his son, and Lily's eyes were the same almond shape—Anthony would even bet that they were the same almost ethereal colour as Harry's. According to the article they had died on October 31 in a home invasion gone amiss in their small South Whales cottage. Harry was only mentioned briefly, and it said nothing about where he had supposedly gone. It said nothing about the Dursleys.

"Knowing that his name is Harry, it seemed pretty clear..." Anthony explained. "Can't you see how much he looks like James Potter?"

"Yes," murmured Dana. "Yes, I think the relation is very clear."

"I tried to look into the Potters but I couldn't find anything," Anthony told her, glad to finally be able to be truthful. "No marriage certificate, no house deed, no schooling record. Just that article and a report from the fire department about their house. I couldn't even find Lily Potter's maiden name." Dana looked thoughtful.

"Well, I can see if I can find anything. I'm assuming that you're interested in adopting Harry?" Anthony nodded emphatically.

"I've grown rather fond of him," he said earnestly. "He's very intelligent, and sweet. I'm more than capable of providing for him."

"Maybe you could go with Harry and have him looked at by our physician while I do some digging?" Dana encouraged. "If I can't find the Potters' will then Harry's custody will be a little hazy. We'll have to run a background check on you, do some interviews, you might have to attend some parenting classes, but if everything checks out and there's no one in line for custody of Harry then you shouldn't have anything to worry about."

Anthony nodded and left the room after being told how to reach the infirmary.

Dana sighed heavily as she hung up the phone. There were no records of any James and Lily Potters from South Whales or anywhere else that she could find that matched their descriptions. Only that obituary, and she was very sure that it hadn't been fabricated.

Who were these people? Perhaps she should ask for another word with Mr. Bishop.

Anthony sat down in the chair once more, this time without Harry. It had taken a bit of work to get the boy to let him go, but the elderly Dr. Fred Harper had distracted the boy with a collection of brightly coloured children's books. He himself was slightly nervous, having been firmly attached to the boy for days without break.

Dana smiled graciously and started. "Well, I don't believe I really need to tell you that this case is rather bizarre." Anthony gave a hollow laugh.

"No, I don't believe you do."

The smile slid off her face, replaced by a look of frustrated confusion. "You were right. I wasn't able to find anything on James and Lily Potter—and I had people looking in the government. I'd say that they never existed, if it weren't for that obituary, the fire department report, and the fact that their son is currently just downstairs. I do have a background check form for you to sign."

Anthony quickly read over the sheet of paper and signed it without hesitation. Aside from the letter that was currently at his house he had nothing to hide. He looked questioningly at Dana when she bit her lip.

"I've already drawn up the adoption forms," she blurt out. "Take them with you, just sign everything, and it'll be all the easier once you get cleared."

"Thank you," Anthony said, slightly stunned. He'd been expecting it to take longer. Then it was his turn to hesitate. "Dana, I think I might need your help with something."

"Yes?" Anthony exhaled hard.

"The article said that they died in a home invasion gone awry," he began.

"Yes..." Dana said again, brow furrowing over sapphire eyes. "Why does that trouble you?"

"You must have read the report from the fire department. The house was decimated, completely burned to the ground. What sort of home invasion ends like that, no matter how badly they screwed up?

"And," he pressed on at her doubtful look, "it mentioned that there was evidence of an explosion. But there was no damage done to the houses on either side. What kind of explosion behaves like that? And how on earth did Harry survive with nothing other than a cut on his forehead if it did happen?"

"What are you suggesting, Mr. Bishop?" Dana asked quietly. Ah. Back to surnames then. Anthony paused.

"I don't have proof of anything," he admitted. "But you have to admit that it's all rather suspicious. And...you've seen all of the terrorist attacks that have been happening. You know how bad it's been." She nodded in assent, wincing slightly. "All I'm saying is that if James and Lily Potter _were_ mixed up in something, who's to say that whoever attacked them won't try to go after Harry again?"

"So are you saying that you _don't_ want to adopt Harry?" Dana asked sharply. Anthony stared, aghast, and quickly backtracked.

"No, no, no! That's not it at all!" He stared at her, pleading for her to understand. "I really, truly do want him. But regardless of who he ends up with, I don't believe that Britain is the safest place for him to be right now." Anthony gulped. "And maybe Harry Potter isn't the safest _person_ for him to be."

Dana stared at him, eyes wide but calculating. Had he really just suggested that? He didn't even have emergency custody yet! But he did have a point...

"So let me get this straight," she began slowly. "You want to adopt Harry, change his name, and take him out of the country?"

"Preferably the United States," Anthony nodded. "No issues with the language, and I have family there." She gave him a hard look.

"You've put a bit of thought into this, haven't you?" she demanded and he looked meek.

"I prefer to be prepared."

"That's certainly not a bad thing..." Dana mumbled, then sighed. "Fine. I'll see what I can do, probably call in some favours, but I'm not making any promises. But," she warned, "if your background doesn't check out then I am going to find _some_ charge that they can convict you of." Anthony dipped his head.

"Thank you."

Two months later Anthony Bishop was boarding a plane, taking his son Carter to visit his aunt in Washington state.

**Sorry that this was a bit rushed, I want to jump into the actual story or else it would never happen and I couldn't really be bothered to make this realistic. Please suspend your disbelief just a little bit longer and some good stuff will happen soon.**


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